


august slipped away into a moment in time

by coffeeandcheesecake



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, High School, I fudged the timelines, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Underage Drinking, and also Bev is here because I said so, with exceptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcheesecake/pseuds/coffeeandcheesecake
Summary: “Oh my god, fine,” Eddie interrupts him. “Just… call me when you can, okay? I really want to talk to you.”“I will,” Richie says, sounding far away, like he’s already hanging up the phone. “I’ll call you.”“You swear?” No answer. “Richie?”There’s a click, and then the dial tone sings a low, sad song. Richie’s being weird, but that’s Richie. He’s weird sometimes. He always calls back.But this time he doesn’t. Eddie calls again on Monday and gets Mrs. Tozier, who is apologetic but says Richie can’t come to the phone right now. She says he’ll call back when he gets the chance.But he never does.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 205





	august slipped away into a moment in time

**PROLOGUE**

Two weeks after the sewers, Eddie calls Richie on the phone. His mother is dozing so he knows she won’t hover; since the ‘gazebos’ incident, she’s been careful with him, and not the way she used to be. 

“Can you meet me at the quarry today?” he asks, tongue between his teeth as he tries to stick a pen down into his cast. He’s got an itch in his forearm that will not be sated. “I need to talk to you.”

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie actually thinks they may have been disconnected, because he’s never known Richie not to answer a question. He stops attacking his arm and takes the phone from where it was propped up against his shoulder.

“Rich? You there?”

Richie laughs obnoxiously loud into his ear. “Yeah, can’t you hear me, Grandma? Did you bust an eardrum, too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Eddie snorts, shaking his arm to see if it helps with the itch. It doesn’t. It hurts, actually. “So? Quarry?”

“No-can-do, Spaghetti-O,” Richie says.

“Oh,” Eddie frowns. “What about tomorrow then? Or maybe this weekend?”

“Totally,” Richie says, but he’s saying it like when his mother asks if he’s going to clean his room sometime this century, when he whispers to Eddie once she’s gone, “ _Except not._ ”

“Are you fucking busy or something?” Eddie snaps, frustrated. Richie is being weird. He’s usually never this cagey about plans.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Richie says, “Went is making me mow the whole lawn. The entire thing. He says he’ll pay me ten bucks, which I need because I spent my _whole_ allowance on Street Fighter tokens, and now Uncle Buck is at the Aladdin and I _have_ to see that movie, Eddie, otherwise how will I perfect my John Candy impression--”

“Oh my god, fine,” Eddie interrupts him. “Just… call me when you can, okay? I really want to talk to you.”

“I will,” Richie says, sounding far away, like he’s already hanging up the phone. “I’ll call you.”

“You swear?” No answer. “Richie?”

There’s a click, and then the dial tone sings a low, sad song. Eddie hangs the phone carefully in the hook and resumes his ferocious search for the itch on his inner arm. Richie’s being weird, but that’s Richie. He’s weird sometimes. He always calls back.

But this time he doesn’t. Eddie calls again on Monday and gets Mrs. Tozier, who is apologetic but says Richie can’t come to the phone right now. She says he’ll call back when he gets the chance.

But he never does.

**SEPTEMBER**

Eddie would have thought some things made you friends forever. Apparently, beating the shit out of a shapeshifting clown demon is not one of them. It’s the first day of school and he has yet to see Bill or Stan or Richie, or even Bev or Ben. He had pictured them returning to school like champions, or like secret agents. They’d seen things no other kid had ever seen, and lived. That meant something, didn’t it?

He looks down at his cast. He’d scrubbed it for hours after the sewers, heaving every time he remembered the smell of the greywater and the leper’s vomit. He’d had to scrub it again after they cut their hands in the field, and oddly that’s what makes his throat convulse now, that pink stain at his palm. Richie’s blood. It feels wrong to carry it around wherever he goes, like he’s waving a sign that says _Richie Tozier held my hand!_ Especially since it’s now been two weeks since he and Richie have spoken at all.

The bell rings, shrill and threatening, and Eddie resolves himself to heading into the building alone. It shouldn’t be scary. It’s the same building he’s walked into for years, Derry being too small a town to merit both a middle and a high school. Also, a month ago he kicked a killer clown in the face. Nothing should be scary anymore. He still feels vulnerable as he walks up the steps.

“Eddie!”

Eddie whooshes a sigh of relief and turns to find Bill’s grinning face. 

“Bill,” he says, embarrassed about how close he is to tears. “Fuck, it’s good to see you. When did you get back?”

“Last night,” Bill says. He looks freckled and carefree. “It was a guh-great vacation. My parents s-seem a lot better. I wonder if it has s-something to do with--”

The bell rings again.

“Shit, I have to get to Math,” Eddie says, and they hurry into the building. 

“What’s your luh-lunch period?” Bill asks as they dart through the halls.

“Sixth,” Eddie says, fumbling for his schedule.

Bill frowns at him sympathetically. “Me and Stan have f-f-fourth. When’s Richie’s?”

“Uh, fifth,” Eddie lies. If Bill doesn’t know Richie is avoiding him, he’s not about to raise the alarm.

“That sucks,” Bill says, his eyes scanning the classroom numbers. “F-fuck, this is me. Wanna m-meet out front after school? I have Lit M-mag eighth.”

“Yes,” Eddie says, feeling suddenly right-footed again. Richie may currently be unreliable but at least he can count on Bill to be normal. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

“Cool!” Bill waves cheerily at him and disappears into his classroom. Eddie slips into first-period Geometry just as Mrs. Ewing is closing the door. She purses her lips at him and points to a desk in the third row. Collapsing into the chair, he feels a prickle at the back of his neck, and turns to find Richie staring at him with a terrified expression from the back of the classroom. The second their eyes meet, Richie looks away and fumbles at his notebook. 

Mrs. Ewing is droning on at the front about the syllabus, so Eddie rips a little corner of paper out of his binder. He struggles for a moment with what to write, holding the pencil precariously in his cast hand. _Why didn’t you call me back? Why are you being so weird? Why did you almost make me start high school alone?_ He finally settles on _What’s wrong???_

Balling it up and praying there aren’t any assholes in between him and Richie, he drops it on the floor and kicks it over to Richie’s sneakers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Richie’s classic move: he knocks his pencil off his desk, huffs in false annoyance, and leans down to scoop up the pencil and the note in tandem. This familiar act makes Eddie feel better, like his friend is still there somewhere. Richie unfolds the note, stares at it for a second, then crumples it back up and flicks it back onto the floor. Eddie’s heart sinks.

He can barely pay attention to the rest of Mrs. Ewing’s lesson. He continues to sneak looks at Richie, who is studiously avoiding him and taking notes. The fact that Richie would rather learn Geometry than look at him makes Eddie feel like his organs are boiling. The bell finally rings and Eddie stands, intent on marching right over to Richie and demanding answers, but Richie is up like a shot and out of the classroom before Eddie can even take a step.

Eddie feels his stomach sink into his shoes. Up until this moment, he could have told himself that Richie was just busy. Maybe it really did take two weeks to mow the lawn. Maybe he didn’t want to get in trouble for passing notes on the first day of school. But this is real confirmation: Richie is avoiding him. And he has no idea why.

The next few periods pass in a blur. English, Social Studies, Earth Sciences, Health. He doesn’t have any classes with anyone else, except Bev, who waves cheerfully at him in Health but doesn’t sit next to him or make any effort to talk. He almost wrenches his neck whipping his head around during lunch to see if he can find Richie, but either his lie to Bill was actually correct, or Richie is so intent on avoiding him that he’s also avoiding food, which would be extreme. 

Eddie finally slams his lunch tray down at an empty table and tries to look as threatening as possible so no one joins him. It’s difficult to eat certain foods with his arm in a cast so he’s struggling to get the sticker off his apple when someone above him clears their throat. He looks up to find Ben holding his lunch tray and looking nervous.

“Can I sit with you?” Ben asks apologetically.

“Duh,” Eddie says, a bit more aggressively than he normally would address Ben. “Why the fuck not? We’re friends, right?” He knows he sounds like a dick, but in his defense he’s had a bad morning and this sticker is just not coming off.

“Yeah,” Ben says, sounding relieved and setting his tray down next to Eddie. “Do you want me to get that for you?”

Eddie hands over his apple. Ben peels the sticker off gently, sticks it to the front of Eddie’s shirt, and grins at him. It’s such a bare-faced act of affection that Eddie almost bursts into tears again, which just makes him angrier.

“Thanks,” he says sullenly, snatching his apple back. “I’m fucking useless with this thing on my arm.”

“You’ll get it off soon, right?” Ben asks, picking at what looks like the cafeteria’s poor excuse for a salad. 

“Two weeks,” Eddie says through a mouthful of fruit. “And depending on how it healed, I’ll still probably have to wear a brace. My mom will probably make me. But at least I’ll be done with this fucking thing.” He frowns down at the LOSER, still readable even if it had been smudged by all the scrubbing.

Ben hums in understanding. After a few moments of watching Eddie eat his apple like it has personally wronged him, he asks, “Are you okay? You seem more,” he waves his hand vaguely, “intense than usual.”

“I’m great,” Eddie says, gnashing his teeth. He has a bit of apple peel stuck in his molar and it might be what pitches him over the edge of sanity.

“It’s just, I saw Richie earlier, and--”

“Do _not_ ,” Eddie barks, “say his name to me.”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Before anyone knew, he could keep pretending that he had misread it all, that it was some funny new prank Richie was playing on him. If he names it, if he gives it attention, it’s real.

“Oh,” Ben says, biting his lip.

“It’s not a big deal,” Eddie mutters, flipping the top off his sandwich so he can pick off the lettuce and the tomato.

“Do you want to talk about it--”

“No,” Eddie says sharply, even though he really does. 

“Okay,” Ben says meekly. “Uh. Do you have English with Mr. Brener? He’s such a hardass, he already assigned homework.”

Eddie relaxes slightly now that the conversation has veered away from Richie, and he sends a silent prayer of thanks to whoever’s listening for Ben, who Richie had called boring once, way back when they’d all first met. Eddie had agreed in the moment, but now he thinks that ‘boring’ might just mean ‘nice’, and nice might just be what Eddie needs the most right now.

The rest of the day passes quickly enough, and as soon as the final bell has rung, Eddie wanders outside to wait for Bill. Students flow in a steady river out the front doors and file onto the buses. The stream becomes a trickle and Eddie checks his watch. School has been over for more than twenty minutes, and Bill is nowhere to be found. Eddie looks back up at the front doors and then wishes he hadn’t. Richie and Bev are walking together and talking, all of Richie’s earlier discomfort gone. He tips his head back and brays a laugh at something Bev says, and she swats him. Eddie’s face burns watching them. This summer, Bev and Richie didn’t even like each other. He specifically remembers Richie bitching about her joining the group, but now he’s offering her his arm and she’s taking it, and they look so natural together that Eddie wants to throw up.

He had realized it soon after they’d cut their palms, why he let Richie press his bloody hand into his clean cast, why he didn’t worry about Richie leaving his mark. He had catalogued his reactions when Richie picked on him, the flush of embarrassment but also pleasure to be paid attention to. He had noted the glances, the gestures, the way they drifted towards each other in every situation, and he had missed Richie with such intensity when he was in the hospital and in the weeks following that it had just clicked. He liked Richie. And he was almost positive Richie liked him, too. He wasn’t stupid, and Richie was his best friend. After that day in the sewers, Eddie had felt like he could do anything, like being brave was as easy as opening a door, taking a step. Especially being brave with Richie, who he trusted to never purposefully hurt him. He had planned to meet Richie at the quarry and tell him his feelings, free fall into the unknown and hope Richie would catch him. 

Stupid.

He watches Bev and Richie stroll off, arm-in-arm, not even noticing Eddie standing there like an idiot. He checks his watch again: thirty minutes now, and Bill isn’t here. The world feels tilted on its axis, like Eddie could be flung into space and lost. Who would even miss him? He knows it’s dramatic, but standing there alone in front of the school, it feels true. Just another missing kid, just another empty chair. Most people in town know his mother and how she is-- would people assume he was sick? Would Richie notice he was gone? Would that finally make him call?

Bill is obviously not coming, so Eddie stomps towards his bike. 

He flies down the streets toward home, the September wind stinging his face. A tear or two leak out of the corners of his eyes but they’re gone before he can even brush them away. 

Bill calls later that night. Eddie sits at his kitchen table, picking at his cast. 

“I’m s-so s-s-sorry, Eddie,” he says, sounding truly contrite. Bill always stutters more when he’s upset.“I got cuh-caught up in Lit Mag t-talking to the editor, and when I f-f-finally looked at the clock it wuh-was like, f-four o’clock. D-did you wuh-wait long?”

This is truly the worst day of Eddie’s life, clowns and sewers and lepers and broken arm included. At least on those days he had friends who cared about him. 

“I actually completely forgot we were supposed to meet,” Eddie says, a little meanly. “So it’s fine.”

“Oh, p-perfect!” Bill doesn’t even sound upset. Eddie wants to throttle him with the phone cord. “The editor actually ended up guh-giving me some extra work to do, so I’ll puh-probably be too busy to hang out for a while. B-but maybe this w-weekend?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie says, and hangs up.

He sits for a moment and stares at the phone. There’s only one person he wants to talk to right now. He knows it’s a bad idea, but he takes the phone back off the hook. He could dial this number in his sleep. It rings once, twice--

“ _Frank's Taxidermy, you snuff 'em, we stuff 'em!_ ”

It’s a terrible Voice, but it’s Richie, sounding happy and jocular. Eddie can hear Mrs. Tozier in the background saying, “ _Richard Tozier, I told you to stop answering the phone like that!”_ Richie laughs and Eddie can’t stand it anymore. He slams the phone back onto the hook and buries his face into his folded arms. 

That is the last straw. Eddie makes a decision, in the moment. He’s not going to like Richie anymore. He refuses to let himself. In fact, he’s going to hate Richie Tozier for the rest of his life.

**OCTOBER**

The cast comes off without much fuss. The saw is pretty cool, even if the effect is diminished by his mother screaming every time it comes close to his fingers. A little piece of plaster falls onto the table, and he picks it up.

“Oh, Eddie, don’t touch that,” his mother moans, her handkerchief fluttering at her mouth. “It’s probably covered in germs.”

“Okay, Ma,” he says, but he pockets it anyway.

His arm looks gross, shrunken and pale, and he wants to call Richie so badly it hurts. He knows Richie probably has hundreds of masturbation jokes he could tell about Eddie having his right hand back, and now he’ll never get to hear them. Eddie has stopped trying to meet Richie’s eyes during class. 

Bill and Stan are also too busy for him. Eddie has seen Bill following the Lit Mag editor around like a lost puppy, and Stan is hanging out with the Jewish Student Union kids. Eddie eats lunch with Ben every day, but it’s not like they hang out, until one day Ben asks him if he’d like to come to the library after school.

“The library?” Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Why?”

“I’ve been meeting Mike there to do homework,” Ben says. “It’s nice. Really quiet.”

Eddie looks at his backpack, which is nearly overflowing with papers he has been remiss in filing in their appropriate binders. A day at the library would probably be wise, plus maybe seeing Mike could help fill the hole in his chest that’s been growing since the summer.

Eddie is waiting for Ben after school when he sees Bev and Richie leave the front doors together and is struck with an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. At least this time he’s not alone; Ben runs up to him, panting slightly, his cheeks ruddy.

“Sorry,” he says. “I have Gym eighth.” Eddie doesn’t respond, so Ben follows his line of sight. He seems to wilt when he sees Bev laugh at something Richie says.

“Do you think they’re--” he asks tentatively.

“Who cares?” Eddie says flatly, shifting his backup up higher on his shoulders. 

Ben’s mouth twists and Eddie feels another rush of anger against Richie. Bill’s oblivious, but Richie knows how Ben feels about Bev. He saw Ben kiss her in the cistern. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Eddie mutters. Ben gives one longing look at Bev and Richie’s retreating backs and then follows him to their bikes. 

At the library, Mike is waiting at one of the large tables and waves happily at Eddie as they join him. 

“It’s good to see you, man!” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he sits. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s weird,” Eddie says, wincing as he lifts his arm to show Mike. “It feels like, way too small. And light. It’s like a skeleton arm.”

He sticks his tongue out and makes an _ooga-booga_ noise, waving his arm like a ghoul. Mike and Ben both laugh, but then turn to their books, and Eddie tries not to feel disappointed. Richie would have spun Skeleton Arm into a long bit that would have left them both exhausted, but it would have been hilarious. Eddie resigns himself to getting actual work done. Maybe this whole thing with Richie and Bill and Stan will result in him getting amazing grades. Maybe he’ll be valedictorian and get into Harvard early and leave everyone in this shitty town behind. Eddie stuffs papers into folders with a vindictive smirk.

The next day in Health, he’s minding his own business when Beverly sits down at the desk next to him. He quirks an eyebrow at her. She hasn’t so much as acknowledged his presence the entire school year beyond smiling and waving.

“Hey, Eds,” she says, winking.

Eddie takes a deep breath so as not to fly off the handle. He doesn’t know what it means that Bev would be using Richie’s nickname for him. Do they talk about him? Laugh about him behind his back?

“Hi, Beverly,” he says. He doesn’t want to be mean to her, plus he knows her well enough by now that he doesn’t want to piss her off, either.

“So you’re pretty mad at Richie, right?” she asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “Me?” he squeaks, cursing how high his voice still is. “Me, mad at _him_? He’s the one who’s been avoiding _me_!”

“He’s stupid,” Bev nods, as if they’re on the same page, even though Eddie is quite sure they’re not even reading the same book. “So, are you mad at him?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s a yes.”

Eddie throws up his hands in frustration. “Does it matter? He literally won’t even look at me.” He wishes his voice didn’t sound so wounded.

Bev considers him for a moment. He flushes under her gaze and fiddles with his pencil. She seems to make up her mind about something, because she leans back into her chair and smiles at him. Sometimes he can swear she reads minds; she has an uncanny ability to look like she knows all your secrets.

“Unclench, Eddie,” she says finally. 

He doesn’t really know what just happened, but he’s sure she knows something. What that is, Eddie isn’t sure he wants to find out.

He ends up going to the library with Ben and Mike several times over the next few weeks. Ben is right; it is nice, and it’s especially nice to be distracted by schoolwork instead of just sitting at home feeling sorry for himself. He’s even started to think of the library as a sort of safe haven which, of course, Ben eventually ruins.

“Hi Eddie!” Beverly chirps, dropping her backpack onto the table. Ben is directly behind her, looking bashful but pleased. He meets Eddie’s eyes and shrugs happily. Eddie feels a prickle of annoyance that Ben betrayed their unspoken Bev-and-Richie-embargo, but it fades quickly. Ben looks so quietly delighted that she chose the chair beside him that Eddie can’t begrudge him inviting her. Unless… 

“Homeschool!” Richie exclaims, inciting a loud _shhhhh!_ from a nearby librarian.

“Hi, Richie,” Mike says, smiling his typical nice-guy smile. Eddie scowls.

Bev and Ben have their heads bent over whatever book they’re both reading for English, so Eddie can’t even glare at Ben to communicate his rage. He opens his Geometry notebook to try to channel his energy into proofs instead.

“Need help?” 

Richie is suddenly over his shoulder, smiling at him nervously. “I did it during my free period.”

“No,” Eddie says, not looking up. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

Richie hesitates, then lowers himself into the chair next to Eddie.

“Eds, I wanted to say--”

“Save it,” Eddie says, eyes still on his paper. “I’m not interested in whatever apology you think would make up for not talking to me for two months.”

Richie chews his lip. “I know I--”

Eddie scoffs loudly and shoves his folder back into his backpack. His chair screeches as he pushes back from the table, provoking another _shhhh!_ from the librarian. 

“I said _save it_ ,” he hisses at Richie, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “I really don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

He stalks out of the library, ignoring Ben calling, “Eddie?” behind him. He hates the part of himself that wants to turn back and find out what Richie wanted to say.

**NOVEMBER**

Eddie pushes through the front door of the pharmacy, the familiar jingle of the bell taking him back to the summertime. He’s been fighting his mother tooth and nail about whether he needs to continue taking his medication, and they eventually compromised with Eddie promising he would still carry around his inhaler. She had immediately called it in and sent Eddie out to pick it up.

“You know how bad your allergies get in the fall, Eddie!” she had wailed at him as he had climbed onto his bike. 

Eddie walks through the aisles, touching the bandages lightly as he goes, remembering when they stole all that shit to patch up Ben. Bev had helped them. He feels a surge of affection before remembering he’s still angry at her and Richie palling around all over town.

Gretta Keene is sitting in her usual spot, thumbing through a magazine and chewing gum.

“Hi, Kaspbrak,” she cooes. Eddie ignores her. He wore the word LOSER painted on his arm for weeks the last time he engaged with her, and he doesn’t make the same mistakes twice.

“I’ve seen your little friend out with Beaverly Marsh,” she says. “I hope he’s using protection.”

Eddie ignores her. Mr. Keene comes out of his office and spots him.

“Just the inhaler, right, Eddie?” 

Eddie nods stiffly, trying to ignore Gretta laughing at him behind her magazine.

“You were all fighting over her all summer, huh?” she whispers while her father is in the back. “Weird she ended up picking Tozier. Smart money was on Denbrough. She’s probably doing both of them though, huh?”

Eddie refuses to look at her, so she prowls closer.

“I guess you don’t have to be someone’s boyfriend to have your hand down her pants at the movie theater,” she says, smacking her gum and grinning at him. “What’s wrong, Eddie? _Jealous?_ ”

“What are you two chatting about?” Mr. Keene comes out from the back with the inhaler bag and a smile.

Eddie rips the bag out of his hand and takes off. His face is ablaze as he straddles his bike and begins the ride home. Gretta didn’t need to know how close she was to guessing the truth. He’s aware that Gretta and her friends are notorious gossips; he knows now that everything they’d ever said about Bev was a lie. It doesn’t stop him from picturing Richie and Bev at the movies the way Gretta had described. Were they kissing? Were they putting their hands on each other? Were they--? Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head back and forth to rid himself of the image. A car horn blares at him and he gasps, whipping the handlebars to the right and flinging himself and the bike into an alley. He brakes, breathing hard.

“Eddie!’

He turns to see Ben jogging toward him, smiling. When he sees the look on Eddie’s face, the grin fades slightly.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says faintly. “I just--” he squeezes his eyes shut again and winces. “I’m fine.”

“I’m so glad I ran into you,” Ben says. “I was actually just hanging out with Bev and Richie and we’re all going to see a movie. Do you want to come?”

Eddie gapes at him. Is this some horrible manifestation of his anxiety? Did that car really hit him and now he’s in hell? Is that fucking clown back from its watery grave to taunt him with his worst nightmare?

“No,” Eddie says. “I absolutely do not.”

“Come on, Eddie,” Ben says, stepping closer and laying a hand on his arm. “He misses you. I know you miss him, too. Let’s just go, it’ll be fun.”

Eddie yanks his arm away. “I don’t miss him,” he says nastily. “And I have no desire to sit in a gross, sticky movie theater and watch Bev and Richie play tonsil hockey. And neither should you. God, Ben, don’t you have any self-respect?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben asks, his eyes wounded.

“I mean, why are you crashing their date?” Eddie says. “Are you really just going to third-wheel them for the rest of your life?”

“It’s not a date,” Ben says defensively. “Richie invited me.”

Eddie ignores the way his stomach flutters unhappily at this information. He feels queasy and sick, and it feels like words are coming out of his mouth without permission.

“Well, good for Richie and good for you,” he says. “I’m glad you can all be friends again.”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” Ben asks. “Why are you being like this?”

“I don’t go where I’m not wanted,” Eddie says stiffly. “I’m not that pathetic.”

“Like me, you mean?” Ben’s chin wobbles. “You think I’m pathetic?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, but he’s sure his silence speaks volumes because Ben straightens his back and squares his shoulders.

“Think whatever you want,” he says, his voice wavering slightly but his eyes stony. “Maybe sometimes I go where I’m not wanted, but I’m not making a conscious decision to be miserable.”

He turns on his heel and marches away. Eddie thinks about calling after him. He thinks about apologizing, saying he’d love to come to the movies with them. Maybe he could sit on Richie’s other side, and Richie could steal his popcorn and heckle the screen, and they could be friends again, and everything could go back to how it was. He thinks about how easy it could be, to just pretend the past three months never happened.

He doesn’t follow Ben. He bikes to the quarry instead and pitches the inhaler, bag and all, over the cliff into the water.

\----

Eddie has really fucked things up now. Ben is steadfastly ignoring him during lunch, choosing to sit alone rather than at their usual table, which feels like a particularly harsh way to communicate his feelings. Bill calls the house every once in a while to say that he’s too busy to hang out, so Eddie has stopped picking up the phone. It’s nice that Bill hasn’t completely forgotten about him, unlike Stanley, who continues to act like they’ve never spoken, let alone been friends since elementary school.

Bev is kind to him, but keeps her distance, out of loyalty to Ben or Richie, he doesn’t know. He sometimes feels eyes on the back of his neck in Geometry, like Richie is watching him, but he’s terrified to turn around and check. He feels so flayed open that one more rejection from Richie will feel like alcohol on an open wound, so he refuses to give him the opportunity.

Mike is the only person still currently speaking to him; wonderful, loyal Mike who refuses to take sides, but he’s also basically got a full-time job, so Eddie can only catch him occasionally at the library if he knows Ben won’t be there.

“Have they all told you not to hang out with me?” he asks once, sullenly doodling on the edge of his World Geography map instead of filling in the capitals.

Mike gives him a pitying look. “Of course not.”

“Do they even ask about me?” he asks, trying not to sound like the world’s biggest baby.

“Who’s they, Eddie?” Mike sighs. “The others…. they’re not a monolith. It’s not like they’re all getting together behind your back. I haven’t even seen Bill or Stan. I actually…” His voice drops like he’s embarrassed. “I’ve called Bill a couple times and he hasn’t called me back.” He fiddles with his pen.

“Hey.” Eddie knocks their elbows together on the table until Mike looks up. 

“Fuck Lit Mag, right?” he says with utter seriousness.

Mike cracks up, his hand landing on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Fuck Lit Mag,” he agrees.

Eddie really looks at Mike for a moment, his broad shoulders and his big smile. He wishes furiously for a moment that it could have been Mike that he developed a crush on this summer. Mike is kind and thoughtful and earnest… everything Richie isn’t. He’s not the kind of person to just drop someone. Although Eddie hadn’t thought Richie was either, and he turned out to be wrong about that.

Mike has to leave at five to go start helping with dinner, and Eddie isn’t great at self-motivating, so he leaves shortly after. He feels restless; if he goes straight home, he’ll just be sitting on the couch with his mother for the rest of the night, feeling claustrophobic, so he walks his bike the long way home, a path he can travel now that Henry Bowers is locked up tight. 

The air is brisk and Eddie’s breath puffs out in little clouds in front of him, but he loves pushing himself like this. He almost wants to get sick, just to prove his body is allowed. His peaceful stroll is disrupted by a familiar shout.

“Eds! Eddie!”

If Eddie had one more split second of a head start, he could have hopped onto the pedals and been home in five minutes. As it is, Richie comes careening down the hill to him and skids to a stop directly in his path, and Eddie gets his first good look at him in months.

He’s panting heavily, but grinning in a way Eddie hasn’t seen in ages. His hair is longer and curling slightly, and his glasses are askew from his mad dash.

 _You like him, you like him_ , his brain taunts. _You like his dumb hair and glasses and the fact that he’s wearing a hideous printed button down over a long sleeved shirt like an idiot._

“What do you want,” Eddie asks flatly, planning at least four escape routes.

Richie holds up one finger as he catches his breath. 

“To talk to you,” he says after a moment.

Eddie snorts. “Oh, so now that it’s convenient for you--”

“I know, I know,” Richie says, dropping his hands onto his knees. “I’m a fucking asshole, Eddie.”

“That’s an understatement,” Eddie sniffs. 

He maneuvers his bike around Richie, but he doesn’t hop on the pedals yet. Richie scrambles to walk alongside him. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Eddie asks carefully.

“Uh, well,” Richie reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I, uh. I know what you wanted to say to me at the quarry.”

Eddie’s blood freezes. The time when he wanted Richie to know about his feelings has long passed; now the idea of Richie having the barest sense of his emotions feels like a fate worse than death. 

“You do?” he asks.

“I’ve known for a while,” Richie says. “That’s why I didn’t want to meet. I got freaked out. I’m really sorry.”

Eddie’s feet have forgotten how to walk. Richie doesn’t seem to notice.

“I just didn’t want things to be different between us,” Richie continues. “And you know, feelings change, so who even knows if... anyway, Bev and Ben said--”

Eddie’s brain and feet screech to a halt. “Wait,” he says, the words leaving his throat with difficulty. “You… you told Bev and Ben?”

“Well, yeah,” Richie says, frowning. “But, Eddie, it’s--”

“What the fuck, Richie!” Eddie practically shrieks. “Don’t tell anyone else!”

“Why the fuck not?” Richie asks, his brow furrowing. 

“Jesus, I shouldn’t have to explain it to you! What the fuck is going on in your head?”

“I can tell my friends whatever I want,” Richie says, folding his arms over his chest. “And what’s up with you?”

“You ditched me for three months, Richie!” Eddie yells, slicing his hand through the air. “If you knew what I was going to say, you had to know how fucked up that is!”

Richie looks angry and confused at the same time; it’s a strange optical illusion.

“I thought I was doing you a favor,” he says, a hint of cruelty creeping in. 

“Wow,” Eddie scoffs. “With a favor like that, who needs to get stabbed in the back?”

“Jesus,” Richie says, throwing up his hands. “Why do I even try with you?”

“Good fucking question,” Eddie says, finally swinging his leg over his bike frame. “Fuck you, Richie.”

“Fuck you!” Richie yells after his back as he rides away.

Eddie pedals furiously, a bubble of emotion growing in his chest and threatening to choke him. He feels too angry to cry, but strangely too sad to throw the full tantrum he’s craving. Coasting into his driveway, he throws his bike down on the lawn and stalks into the house. He’s about to stomp up to his room when he hears his mother’s voice.

“Eddieeeee!” she calls. “Come have dinner, Eddie-bear. I set it out for you in front of the TV.”

His mother is in her usual spot in her chair, eating microwaved mashed potatoes and something swimming in brown gravy. He takes a moment to consider her, her beady eyes fixed on Wheel of Fortune, the way she’s set up his plate right beside her. Everyone he loves is either angry with him or isn’t thinking about him at all, and suddenly the couch next to his mother is the only place he feels welcome, wanted. He settles in next to her and takes a sip of milk. Maybe later he’ll let her rub Vick’s Vaporub on his chest like she’s always begging him to.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, reaching for her purse. “I was out earlier and I picked this up for you.”

She hands him a small white paper bag. It rustles as he peeks inside.

It’s an inhaler.

“Thanks, Ma,” he says. He takes it out and holds it. Even the shape of it in his hand makes him feel better.

**DECEMBER**

The days are getting shorter, but for Eddie, each hour seems to drag like a week. Ben is still not speaking to him, although during lunch he stares sadly over at Eddie like he desperately wants him to apologize so they can sit together again. Bill and Stan are absolutely nowhere to be found, and even Bev and Richie appear to be laying low, perhaps because Gretta and her cronies continue to circulate vicious rumors about them.

It takes Eddie about fifteen minutes to get ready to leave school at this time of year; he has to put on a sweater, zip up his parka, and add a hat, scarf, and gloves, or else his mother will make him sit in a tub of hot water for an hour once he gets home. In the wintertime, he takes the bus home instead of biking, and he usually sits close to the front, alone, his breath fogging up the window.

Today, he doesn’t make it onto the bus. A huge boy, whose name Eddie doesn’t know, but who looks like he’s auditioning for the role of The New Henry Bowers, seizes him by the straps of his backpack and throws him onto the frosty grass. The wind gets punched from Eddie’s chest and he scrambles for his inhaler.

“Freshman board last,” the boy says, sneering down at him. 

“Fuck off,” Eddie wheezes.

The sneer drops off the boy’s face. “What the fuck did you say?” He grabs the front of Eddie’s shirt and hauls him up.

“I said,” Eddie coughs once, twice, “Fuck. Off.”

The kid punches him right in the nose.

Eddie’s vision swims; he tries to blink away the black dots that have appeared in his line of sight. He sees that same fist come up to hit him again, and he braces for the impact, when all of the sudden the hand holding his shirt lets go and he thumps back to the ground.

“Eddie!” There are careful hands on his face. Someone hauls him up under his armpits and holds him upright. Slowly, Bev comes into focus. She has a tissue pressed up against his nose. Eddie looks to his left and finds Ben is keeping him from toppling back onto the grass.

“Thanks,” he says faintly. “Where’s--?”

He hears a shout and looks to find both Stan and Richie, of all people, wrestling the other boy to the ground. 

“Get the fuck out of here!” Stan yells, aiming a kick at the boy’s side.

Richie looks impressed. “Nice one, Stanley.”

The boy scrambles up, with some difficulty, Eddie notices, and limps off, glaring daggers. Stan and Richie approach Eddie, who has started to wonder if this might be some kind of fantastic dream.

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asks. He reaches up a hand as if to touch Eddie’s face, but then appears to think better of it and drops it. His gaze falls to Eddie’s hand, which is clutching his inhaler. “I thought… I thought you didn’t need that anymore.”

There’s something accusatory in Richie’s tone that makes Eddie tear himself out of Ben’s grasp and stumble away from the group. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I just need to…” They’re all watching him like he’s about to throw himself off a bridge. “Thank you. Thank you for doing that. I just need…”

He sets off down the bike trail, realizing too late that he is not in possession of his bike. He probably should have waited a moment with the group before wandering off, but he couldn’t stand the way they were all looking at him.

He finds himself, ironically, at the quarry. The water looks frozen, but Eddie knows from experience that the top layer isn’t very thick, and if he were to try and walk on it, he would fall right through and drown. It feels like there’s a metaphor somewhere in there; he makes a mental note to tell Ben to write a poem about it before he remembers Ben isn’t speaking to him. Or maybe he was… maybe that whole fight was going to bring them together again and Eddie just ruined it. 

He sits down on the frozen ground, ignoring the way the slush seeps into the seat of his jeans. Something is poking him in the ass, so he reaches into his pocket and retrieves the small piece of plaster that had fallen from his cast back in October. It looks grubby and flaky, but to Eddie it’s the most beautiful fossil he’s ever seen. He squeezes it in his cupped hand and stares out at the grey, frozen world.

After a little while, the cold really starts to set in, and Eddie’s teeth begin to chatter, but he can’t find the motivation to move. After finding the plaster, he feels like he’s waiting for something. 

As if the universe has heard his plea, someone drops to the ground beside him.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bill says, smiling softly, the red streak in his hair stark against the colorless terrain.

“Hey, Big Bill,” Eddie says, drawing his knees up his chest and resting his chin on them.

“Ben c-called me and told me about the f-f-fight,” Bill says. “Your n-nose okay?”

“I can’t really feel any part of my body right now,” Eddie says. 

Bill chuckles. They’re silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry I haven’t buh-been around,” Bill says, and for some reason, this time Eddie actually believes him. Maybe it’s because they’re both sitting ass-first in the snow. “High school is harder than m-middle school, isn’t it? And not j-j-just classes and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

“I wuh-was talking to M-mike,” Bill says. “We actually d-decided to have a puh-party this Saturday. At the f-f-farm.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks tonelessly. A party sounds like a nightmare right now.

“Nothing b-b-big,” Bill clarifies. “Just us. The Luh-loser’s club. Remember when Rich c-called us that?” He nudges Eddie’s shoulder, grinning.

The corner of Eddie’s mouth turns up slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

“G-g-great!” Bill exclaims. “So y-you’ll call R-r-richie and tell him?”

“Wait, what?” Eddie squeaks. “Why me? You call him.”

“It’s a phone tree,” Bill says patiently. “I t-tell you, you tell Richie.”

Eddie glares at him, but Bill just smiles sweetly at him until he rolls his eyes and nods.

“Fine,” Eddie says. “But he might not come if i’m the one asking.”

“He’ll c-c-come,” Bill says easily, getting to his feet and extending a hand to Eddie. 

Eddie takes it and Bill hauls him up and into a hug.

“We’ll figure it all out, okay?” Bill whispers into his shoulder.

To answer feels too vulnerable, but Eddie does nod, thumping his head down on Bill’s chest.

It’s late when Eddie gets home and thankfully his mother is already asleep; he doesn’t want to know what her reaction would have been to seeing his swollen nose. He does stretch the phone cord into his room so he can have some privacy for this phone call.

“ _Randy’s Roadside Diner, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em!_ ”

“Hi Richie,” Eddie says. “Nice Voice.”

“Oh,” Richie says, sounding like himself again. “I, uh. Thanks.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Bill and Mike are having a party this Saturday at the farm,” he says. “And Bill, um. There’s a phone tree? Well, this is. Anyway, he asked me to call you. He wants you to come.” He winces. “I also… um. Want you to come.”

“Oh,” Richie says again, and Eddie can’t read the tone of his voice. “Saturday? Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Eddie says. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

There’s a horrifying silence. Eddie is about to open his mouth and give an awkward goodbye when Richie says, “This is a phone tree, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says, surprised.

“So,” Richie says. “Which members of the Lit Mag am I supposed to call?”

Eddie snorts a laugh before he can even think to stop himself. Richie laughs too, seemingly delighted that he managed to get one out of Eddie.

“No Lit Mag,” Eddie says. “Thank Christ.”

There’s another silence, but it’s oddly more comfortable than the last one.

“Thanks, by the way,” Eddie says. “For today, with that… whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is. Bowers clone.”

“Ay, no problemo, boss,” Richie says in some kind of Italian mobster Voice. “Dey gotta know dat nobody messes with Eddie Spaghetti and gets away wid it.”

“Oh, god,” Eddie practically belly laughs. “That’s so bad, Rich. You really need to work on that one.”

“Ayyyy, you know what dey say, Spaghetti,” Richie continues. “Practissimo makes perfecto. You ain’t seen da last of ol’ Tozier Da Mouth.”

“Goodbye, Richie,” Eddie says fondly.

“Sleep nice with da fishes! That’s amore! That’s a spicy meatball!”

Eddie hangs up. The balloon of emotion in his chest is filling up again, but this time it feels warm and welcome, and Eddie can’t stop smiling.

The next day during Geometry, Mrs. Ewing barks at them to pair up for an exercise. Trying not to think too hard about it, Eddie turns in his chair and raises his eyebrows at Richie. There’s a moment where something genuine flits across Richie’s face, but then he says, very loudly in one of Eddie’s least favorite Voices, “Aw, Edward Kaspbrak, you wanna work with li’l ol’ me?”

“Richie,” Mrs. Ewing warns.

Richie scooches his desk over to Eddie’s, purposefully dragging it across the linoleum so it screams. The whole class winces and Eddie stifles a giggle behind his hand. As they work through the exercise Mrs. Ewing assigned, Richie mutters color commentary about the rest of their classmates under his breath. Eddie occasionally huffs a laugh and drinks in the look of gratification on Richie’s face when he does so.

The weather outside is cold and dreary, but for Eddie it might as well be spring. At lunch, he goes and gets his tray like usual and plonks it down right next to Ben, who looks up at him in surprise.

Ben hesitates for a moment, then appears to steel himself and say, “So are you done being an asshole?”

“Maybe,” Eddie says with a small smile. “Can I sit with you if I promise I’m working on it?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, grinning at him. 

They chat idly for a while, discussing the likelihood of another snowfall, before Ben starts to look slightly uncomfortable, like he’s holding something in. Finally, he asks, “So are you and Richie friends again?”

 _Yes_ , is on the tip of Eddie’s tongue. He wants to say it. Talking to Richie on the phone last night and working with him in class today felt achingly normal, and part of him has been craving that since the beginning of school. But there’s something that stings, some bruise that still hurts when he touches it.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “I want that, I just… I don’t know.”

“It’s just confusing, Eddie,” Ben says. “You were mad at him for ignoring you, right? So if he apologized and isn’t ignoring you, why are you still mad?”

“I’m not… mad,” Eddie says, trying desperately to find the words. 

“Is it…” Ben hesitates.

“I know you know what I was going to tell him at the quarry,” Eddie sighs. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t know.”

“Oh,” Ben looks relieved. “Is that why you’re angry? I mean, doesn’t it make sense that he would be upset?”

Ben’s words send a ripple of pain through Eddie’s chest but he tries not to let on. 

“At this point, whatever I was going to say at the quarry doesn’t matter,” Eddie says firmly. “It’s the fact that even if he knew what I was going to say or he didn’t, he still ditched me. He ignored me for weeks. He was supposed to--” A lump in his throat threatens to turn into real tears, so Eddie has to take a moment to tamp it down. “He was my best friend and now, I just…” He shrugs. “I can’t trust that anymore.”

Ben looks like he wants to say more, but he must sense some resolve in Eddie because he drops it and starts talking about some movie he and Bev had seen last weekend. Eddie feels spent, like the conversation had physically drained him, but he’s glad, too, to be friends with Ben again. 

The weekend approaches and Eddie begins to get nervous. He and Richie have taken to greeting each other again in the hallways and working together in Geometry when prompted, but there have been no more phone calls and they haven’t seen each other outside of school. The idea of socializing with him at a party feels foreign and terrifying; where are the lines? What rules should they follow?

“Should I bring something?” Eddie asks Mike at the library on Friday. 

“Just yourself,” Mike says, smiling at him. “Or like, food if you want, I guess. I’m going to try and get some six-packs off my granddad for us, and Bill told me someone at the Lit Mag can get him vodka.”

Oh, good. Alcohol. At this party. Where Eddie will be in the same room as Richie for the longest time since the summer. What could go wrong?

Eddie’s mom drops him off at Mike’s the next day. She fusses over him in the car for at least five minutes before letting him out.

“Bill’s dad is going to drive me home,” he tells her for the twentieth time, tugging his sleeve out of her grasp. 

“Keep your scarf on,” she orders as he clambers out of the car, balancing a tupperware in his arms. “Eddie, I’m serious, these old farmhouses are so drafty. Eddie! Do you have your inhaler?”

“Yes, Ma!” he says as he slams the door shut with his foot. There’s a giggle from behind him, and Eddie turns to find Richie smiling at him with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“How is Sonia?” Richie asks. “Does she miss me?”

“Beep beep,” Eddie answers, which has Richie hooting with laughter.

“Wait, what are these?” Richie asks, trying to tug the tupperware out of Eddie’s protective grasp.

“Stop it!” Eddie scowls, pulling away from him. “They’re brownies. I made them.”

“Eddie!” Richie crows, still wrestling with the tupperware. “You’re a regular little Betty Crocker! Why, I oughta just walk you down the aisle and make an honest woman out of you--”

He stops suddenly, his cheeks coloring. Eddie takes advantage of this to wrench the tupperware out of Richie’s grasping fingers, but he can also feel his ears getting red.

“I didn’t mean--” Richie says.

“Let’s just go to the party,” Eddie interrupts, setting off towards the house. He doesn’t want to hear Richie’s excuses, how he didn’t mean it, all when the thought of Richie actually walking him down the aisle, of getting to keep him forever, makes his insides boil with want.

Richie knocks loudly on the front door of the farmhouse and Bill answers, holding a cup of what looks like water.

“H-hey!” he says, his eyes already a little glazed over. So, not water, then. Bill’s face splits into a grin. “D-did you guys…?”

“We just got here at the same time,” Richie says quickly, giving Bill a look Eddie cannot decipher and pushing past him to get into the house.

Eddie’s heart sinks even lower into his stomach. The hopes he has about Richie treating him normally even though he knows how Eddie feels about him are quickly vanishing. Bill continues to smile, oblivious. 

“Want a d-d-drink, Eddie?” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters, shoving the brownies at Bill and then following him into the kitchen. Bev and Mike are already there, giggling as they mix drinks.

“Hi!” Bev says brightly. “Beer or liquor, Eddie?”

Eddie opens his mouth to answer _neither_ , but then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Richie and Ben by the kitchen table, heads bent together in conversation. It feels paranoid to think that they’re talking about him, but it makes him feel just nervous enough that getting drunk doesn’t feel like the worst idea.

“Vokda, please,” he answers.

“Do you want me to mix it with something?” Bev asks, waving at the various juices lined up on the counter.

“No, uh,” Eddie winces. “Just, um. A shot?”

Bev lifts her eyebrows at him but pours some vodka into a cup and hands it over. Eddie tries to visualize how they do shots in movies and tosses it back as casually as he can. It feels like fire and acid in his mouth, and his throat convulses with the urge to gag. He swallows with difficulty and hides it by wiping his mouth. Bev, Bill, and Mike all cheer; Eddie’s not sure if it’s that or the alcohol but he feels suddenly empowered.

“Can I have another one?” Eddie asks, breathless.

“All right, slow down, slugger,” Mike says. “I’ll make you a drink you can sip.”

There’s a light knock on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Bill crows, his eyes shiny. He vanishes back into the foyer and returns a few moments later with a very nervous-looking Stan.

There’s a moment where all seven of them stop what they’re doing and look at each other. Eddie wonders if they’re all thinking about the last time they were all together like this.

“So, uh,” Stan looks around at all of them. “Anybody kill any clowns lately?”

It’s dark, and there’s a hint of something like resentment in Stan’s tone, but it succeeds in breaking the tense moment and they all chuckle. 

“Beer, please, Mike,” Stan says, and Mike obliges. 

They all eventually migrate to the living room with drinks, some chips, and Eddie’s brownies. The chatter is most insubstantial: who has what for which elective, the disgusting lunch food, the utter evil of the presidential fitness test.

“I actually don’t mind it,” Stan says, and then immediately has to duck when both Ben and Richie throw handfuls of chips at him.

“Is that where you’ve been hiding out, Stanley?” Richie says. “Gym class?”

They all chuckle, but there’s a thin layer of truth to what Richie said that lingers in the room, and they’re all quiet for a moment, as if waiting for Stan to respond. He takes a deep breath.

“I know I haven’t exactly been... around,” he says carefully. 

“Understatement,” Richie snorts. 

Stan glares at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, did we not all endure something traumatic this summer, or was that just me?”

That sobers everyone for a moment.

“I don’t… really like thinking about it,” Ben says quietly.

“Me neither,” says Mike.

“Well, neither do I,” Stan says. “But I can’t not think about it, especially when I see any of you. When I look at you guys, I just see us covered in disgusting sewer water, fighting that… thing. And the screaming…” He breaks off, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Stan,” Bev says softly. “You can talk to us about that stuff. We get it. We’re the only ones who get it.”

“But that’s exactly why I don’t want to,” Stan says. “You _don’t_ get it. None of us get what it’s like to be normal anymore. We cut our hands open and now we all have this scar, like we’re all part of some exclusive club. We all had this terrible thing happen to us and now it’s bound us together, forever.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Ben asks.

“I don’t want it,” Stan answers, his face stormy. “I don’t want to be bound. I want to be free.”

These words hang in the air and then settle onto all of them, like dust. Eddie sees both Bill and Bev open their mouths to respond, then close them again.

“Anyway,” Stan says, clearly trying to break the tension. “Enough about me. What about you two?” He gestures to Richie and Bev, who are sitting next to each other on the couch. “I have it on very good authority that you’re dating now.”

Eddie’s heart drops. He masks it by taking a huge gulp of his drink. 

“Gross,” Bev grins, shoving Richie lightly with her shoulder.

“The feeling’s mutual, honey,” Richie says, making kissy faces at her. She squeals and shoves him away,

“This is why people think you’re dating,” Ben says, barely hiding his bitterness, from Eddie’s vantage point. He perks up when both Bill and Mike laugh.

“The good lady Beverly is just slumming with me at the moment,” Richie says in a hoity-toity Voice. “I am but her humble valet. Besides,” He slips back into his regular timbre, “what kind of freak would be attracted to this?” He gestures up and down his body.

Eddie’s laugh dies in his throat. Why would Richie say that when he’s sitting right here, knowing what he knows? Is this because of the marriage joke earlier, or when Bill thought they’d arrived together? Is Richie trying to punish him, push him out? Eddie suddenly can’t stand to be in this room. He stands, and the laughter of the others dies down. 

“What’s up, Eddie?” Mike asks, looking worried.

“I just need some air,” he chokes out, and strides out into the foyer.

“Fuck, Eddie, wait,” he hears Richie say behind him. He wrenches open the door and hurries out into the dark night, anxious to get away from him.

The farmland stretches on for acres, and Eddie wraps his arms around himself, shivering. He sees a nice little hill that looks perfect for moping, and he heads there, cursing himself for making a scene. He’s sure they’re all talking about him now, laughing at him at worst, pitying him at best. He drops down onto the grass and tries very hard not to cry.

After a moment, someone settles down next to him. Eddie turns to tell Richie to fuck off, but surprisingly finds Bev instead.

“Hey,” she says, much more muted than usual. “I told Richie you might need some space.”

“Thanks,” he says hollowly. “So... I’m assuming you know.”

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s why I wanted to come out here. I just… I understand what it’s like. To worry that you might lose your friend because you don’t like them the way that they like you.”

Eddie scoffs a little, nudging a clump of dirt with his toe. “Why aren’t you inside, saying that to Richie?”

Bev’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Why would I say that to Richie?”

Eddie looks at her in confusion. “Because… that’s what Richie is going through?”

Bev is looking at him like he’s speaking another language. “What are you talking about?”

“Richie doesn’t want to stay friends with me because he knows I like him,” Eddie says, too confused and sick of it all to be withholding. 

Bev’s jaw drops open. Eddie watches her for a moment, a siren in his brain beginning to wail. 

“I thought… I thought he told you!” Eddie says, his voice getting high with anxiety. “He told me he did, and then Ben said…”

“Eddie, Richie likes _you_ ,” Bev says. “He told us you knew and that’s what you were going to tell him at the quarry, that you knew, and that--”

“I was going to tell him I liked him,” Eddie says faintly. “I didn’t… he said I…”

“Eddie,” Bev says excitedly, but Eddie barely hears her. He’s too busy wracking his brain, absolutely sure at some point he received verbal confirmation that Richie was trying to let him down easy. All those conversations with Ben… with Richie… had they never actually said it?

“I don’t… doesn’t everyone know I like Richie?”

“No, everyone knows Richie likes _you_!” Bev grabs Eddie by the shoulders, her eyes wide with excitement. “Eddie, do you realize… if he was wrong, if he didn’t know what you were going to say, if he thought--”

“That’s why he stopped talking to me,” Eddie says in a rush. “That’s why--” He grabs onto her arm where she’s gripping him and shakes it. “Fuck, when he said that he-- he meant--”

“Yes,” Bev laughs, shaking his shoulders. “Yes, and you didn’t ever mean to--”

“No!” Eddie says. “I didn’t!”

Bev screams delightedly, and Eddie joins her as they shake each other, feeling much more drunk than he would think two shots of vodka would get him. He doesn’t know what emotion he’s feeling, just that whatever it is, it’s big and threatening to engulf him.

“Eddie, you have to go tell him!” Bev shrieks.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, scrambling to his feet. “Fuck, I have to go.”

Eddie dashes toward the house, Bev hot on his heels. He crashes into the living room, where he sees Richie on the floor having what looks like a very serious talk with Stan. Richie glances up and locks eyes with Eddie, standing in the doorway, breathing hard and probably looking like he’s seen a ghost. He sighs and begins, “Eddie, I--”

“Richie, let him talk,” Bev says, arriving behind him.

Everyone’s eyes turn to Eddie, and Richie raises his eyebrows, waiting patiently, quiet for once in his godforsaken life. Eddie doesn’t know what emotion he was feeling when he ran in here, but now that’s looking at Richie, the only thing he feels is white-hot rage. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. “You are an absolute fucking moron.”

And he flings himself across the room. 

Richie screams long and loud as Eddie lands on top of him. Eddie isn’t sure how he wants to murder Richie, but he need to do it in the next five seconds. Richie grabs his arms as they wrestle for a few moments.

“Eds, what the fuck!”

“You asshole,” Eddie howls. “You fucker, you think you know _everything_ , you should have just come to meet me at the quarry, you fucking stupid motherfucker--”

“Eddie,” Bev chides, sounding very calm despite the fact that Eddie is about to end Richie’s life. “Don’t you think there’s a better way to communicate?”

“It’s a little on the nose to call me a motherfucker, isn’t it?” Richie asks from inside Eddie’s armpit, because he clearly wants to be violently killed. With a new shriek of anger, Eddie attempts to smother him.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Ben’s worried voice drifts over.

“Believe me, Richie deserves this,” Bev answers.

“What?” Richie yelps. “I’m innocent, why is this happening to me?”

Eddie fists his hands in Richie’s terrible patterned shirt, slams him onto the floor, and yells, “Because I like you, you dick!” 

Richie’s mouth drops open. Eddie realizes too late that the position they’ve found themselves in with Richie flat on his back and Eddie above him is slightly suggestive. He lets go of Richie’s shirt.

“You what?” Richie says faintly.

“We should go,” Bev whispers, and Eddie notices through the thick fog of his anger and excitement that everyone else is filing out of the room.

“I like you,” Eddie repeats. “That’s what I was going to tell you at the quarry, you idiot.”

“But if… if you were going to tell me that, then why…” Richie closes his eyes for a moment, and Eddie can tell he’s going through all their interactions like Eddie had done a few minutes ago. “But then… fuck. Eddie.” Richie looks up at him, his eyes magnified by his huge glasses. “If you were going to tell me you liked me, then when I didn’t show up, when I blew you off--”

“I thought you knew,” Eddie says, backing up slightly so that Richie can sit up.

“I thought _you_ knew!” Richie says. “I thought you were going to let me down easy, that’s why I--”

“I know,” Eddie says. He thinks back to when Richie had said, _I thought I was doing you a favor_ , realizes that what he perceived as cruelty was actually hurt.

Richie groans. “You’re right,” he says miserably. “I am an absolute fucking moron. Eddie, I give you express permission to execute me.”

“Maybe later,” Eddie says absently. “So… you like me?”  
  
Richie’s eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

“I probably shouldn’t try to say something funny, should I?” he asks. Eddie shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah. I like you.”

“So, I guess we like each other,” Eddie says. The anger is leaving him swiftly and being replaced with some soft, gooey feeling that he’s extremely unused to.

“I guess we do,” Richie says.

They look at each other for a minute, then crack up.

“Shit,” Richie says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Fuck, Eds, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You think I do?” Eddie says, waving at himself. “Rich, I came in here to tell you I liked you and ended up beating the shit out of you.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Richie says. “Although, to be honest, it was kinda hot.”

“Bee beep,” Eddie says automatically, but then the implication of Richie’s words hits them both. Eddie feels his face flush with the thought, but it does give him an idea. 

“So what are we going to do now?” he asks, looking up at Richie through his eyelashes.

“I don’t know,” Richie says.

“Richie,” Eddie says. “Are you really that stupid?”

“I think we just established that I am,” Richie says, but then he seems to notice that Eddie is leaning towards him. “Oh. Oh! You… you want to do that? With me?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, I like you in a way that means I don’t want to kiss you. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Eddie,” Richie looks nervous. “I… I know I make a lot of jokes. About sex and stuff. But I’ve never actually…”

“Oh my god,” Eddie rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I don’t expect you to be like, a porn star. I don’t even want that. I just want....” he trails off, expectant.

Richie scoots towards him. He lifts up a hand hesitantly, as if to place it on Eddie’s face. Eddie shuffles forward to fit his cheek into Richie’s palm. Richie gulps.

“Do you mind if I…” his other hand hovers over Eddie’s hip. “When I imagined it, I--” He breaks off, blushing madly.

“You imagined this?” Eddie asks softly, moving Richie’s hand where he wants it. 

“Duh,” Richie says. “Eddie, you have no fucking idea. I’ve been thinking about this for like, forever.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. 

“I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Me neither.”

A chuckle puffs out of both of them.

“Okay,” Richie says, swallowing hard. “Here I come.”

“Richie, stop narrating.”

“Fuck, sorry.” 

Eddie closes his eyes and feels Richie’s thumb move on his face. For a moment, nothing happens. He opens his eyes again to find Richie just watching him.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Nothing,” Richie says quickly. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Eddie says, and finally, Richie listens.

It isn’t anything mind-blowing, just a dry press of lips. Eddie’s knees hurt from where he’s been kneeling, and the edge of Richie’s glasses is digging slightly into his cheek. But it’s _Richie_. He’s Eddie’s best friend in the whole world, the only person who he can go toe-to-toe with, the first person he wants to talk to when he wakes up and the last person he wants to see before he goes to sleep. Eddie has the sudden feeling that no matter where this kiss had happened for the first time, it would have been perfect.

Richie leans back, eyes still closed, mouth slightly open. 

“Spaghetti,” he says reverently. “You kiss like a dream.”

Eddie shoves him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I mean it,” Richie says, his eyes still closed. “I think I’m going to stop eating or drinking and just live on your kisses alone.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Eddie reaches out to shove him again, but Richie grabs his hand and just holds it between his own. He finally cracks his eyes open and they sparkle as he grins.

“Yeah, but you like me,” he says, and uses his hold on Eddie’s hand to wrap his noodly arms around him.

“No, I don’t,” Eddie says, wriggling. “I changed my mind.”

“No take-backs!” Richie crows, hauling Eddie into his lap. He raises his voice to shout, “We know you’re listening! You can all come back in now!”

Bill enters first, looking sheepish but pleased, and the rest follow him wearing similar expressions. 

“Took you dumbasses long enough,” Stan mutters. 

“Do you mean what just happened tonight, or like, in general?” Ben asks, recapturing his spot on the couch. 

Stan thinks for a second, then decides, “Both.”

“So n-now that the major drama has puh-passed,” Bill says. “Sh-should we play a g-game? I learned a really g-good one from this girl in--”

“Bill, If you say Lit Mag, so help me,” Stan says, pointing threateningly.

“It was Lit M-mag,” Bill says sheepishly, and they all pelt him with their empty cups.

They do end up playing Lit Mag girl’s game, and then another one Mike learned from his grandpa. They decide not to drink too much more since most of their parents are picking them up at the end of the night, but they make up for it in being drunk off each other’s company. 

Later in the night, Eddie sidles over to Bev and squeezes her hand. He hasn’t forgotten that she came outside to comfort him, to connect with him, and her problems hadn’t vanished as handily as his. He’s not sure what to say, but she smiles at him and squeezes back so he thinks she understands. He chats with Ben for a little while, too, trying to understand where their conversations about Richie had missed each other. He dances around the room to Bruce Springsteen with Bill, argues with Stan affectionately about required reading for English, and spends a full minute just hugging Mike, telling him sloppily that he is the only one who’s never betrayed him.

“All right, enough of that,” Richie says, prying Eddie out of Mike’s arms. “Get your own pipsqueak, Homeschool.” Eddie doesn’t mind at all and plasters himself to Richie’s side, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

“You sleepy, Spaghetti?” Richie asks, his arm curled protectively around Eddie’s waist.

“No,” Eddie hums. “Just happy.”

“Me too,” Richie murmurs, low, just for Eddie’s ears. 

All too soon, Bev’s aunt is there to pick her up, then Stan’s mom, who is also taking Ben. Bill’s dad arrives shortly after, and Eddie and Richie clamber into the backseat. On the drive home, Bill chatters to his father and Richie’s hand finds Eddie’s. They’re lucky it’s dark, because Eddie can feel his face light up like a beacon and he’s sure his ears are on fire. Richie’s hand is sweaty as he laces their fingers together, but Eddie doesn’t mind. 

“You’re first, Edster,” Mr. Denbrough says, pulling into the driveway.

Eddie reluctantly lets go of Richie’s hand and gives him a look he hopes communicates how he feels, and how much. Richie nods at him, and it’s then that Eddie realizes that “like” may not be a big enough word, that the glimmer of something else, something more, is beginning to take shape. 

He watches the car pull out of the driveway, knowing the moment he steps foot inside his house his mother will be all over him, asking him questions, smelling his breath, demanding to know if anyone made him do drugs. She’ll follow him upstairs as he gets ready for bed, and she’ll wail and pout, but Eddie already knows he won’t care. He’ll barely be able to hear her as he brushes his teeth and gets in bed, and he won’t worry about her at all as he touches his lips, thinking _Richie Tozier kissed me tonight_. That’s all he’ll think as he drifts off to sleep.

**EPILOGUE**

It’s been two weeks since Richie blurted out, “Are you my boyfriend?” mid make-out session. Eddie had been too overcome to do anything but nod, and every day they’ve spent together since has been Eddie’s favorite day ever. They can’t really date properly, since neither of them can drive, but they do take walks down to the quarry and go to the movies to hold hands in the dark. Eddie is over at Richie’s house as much as his mother will let him, and the group is trying to make time for each other again, even if it’s difficult to get all seven of them in one room.

Eddie and Richie still fight, near constantly, prompting Ben to ask them if they’d broken up more than once. But Eddie would never give up arguing with Richie; it’s one of the perks of dating him, in fact, that they can end each dispute with a kiss. Considering how hard it was to get there, being with Richie is the easiest thing he’s ever done, and he doesn’t know how it could ever get old.

It’s after a date with Richie that something finally clicks, and Eddie dashes into his house to call Stan.

“I get it,” he says after Stan answers.

“Get what?” Stan asks.

“What you meant, when you said you wanted to be free,” Eddie says. “It took me a while to understand it. But I think… us all being bound together. That’s a kind of freedom, too. It’s knowing that you have the freedom to go do whatever you want and we’ll be here for you, to catch you, to support you. It’s…” He pauses, wondering if this will betray too much of what he was thinking about when he realized it. “It’s a commitment.”

Stan is silent for a moment, and then he breathes a laugh.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he says. “That’s… yeah. Thanks, Eddie.”

“No problem,” Eddie says.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at Ben’s, right?”

“See you there,” Eddie replies, and hangs up the phone. He sits at the kitchen table, remembering inscribing a ‘V’ onto his cast to try and change the way the world saw him. He thinks about the little piece of his cast he now keeps on his dresser upstairs, how Richie had exclaimed how cool it was when Eddie had showed him. He thinks about the scar on his left palm, and he thinks about ceremonies, of the past, and of the future. 

The sun shines in through the kitchen window, and Eddie closes his eyes, and smiles. 


End file.
